


Time Horizon

by weatheredlaw



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Melancholy, Multiple Orgasms, Scars, Topping, Undercover as a Couple, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I couldn't kill you, Stark. Even if I wanted to."</p><p>"Ah." He downs his drink and smirks. "So you admit to liking me. I knew I'd get it out of you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Horizon

"This is a terrible idea, sir."

"Can't think of anything better." Fury flips through some papers on his desk, already done with this debriefing, already moving on to something else. He's already finished with her and every second she lingers in his office is another ounce of patience lost. "Agent Romanov, are you done?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be ready to leave in an hour."

"Good. Wheels up in ninety."

 

 

 

He gives her the once over, shoves a pair of sunglasses over his face and gives her a grin. "Let's do this thing." Natasha walks behind him as they board the plane, Natalie tucked away in her suitcase, the plans of the hotel and their room fresh in her mind. She goes over them again as they take off, reading and re-reading the blueprints. "Hey." Stark snaps his fingers in front of her and it has to be a sign of _something_ that she doesn't break his fingers right where they are. "You'll give yourself a migraine if you shove anymore information in that head of yours."

"This is for _your safety_ , Mr. Stark."

"So we're back to that, then?"

"For now, yes." But she folds up the papers and leans back in her seat, shaking her head when the stewardess offers her a glass of wine. "I didn't know you still presented at conferences."

"Alternative energy gala, big difference. More half-naked women carrying trays of canapés, less academics." He finally takes off his sunglasses. "Barton was supposed to go with me."

"He's indisposed."

"Is that code for suspended or killing people?"

"It's code for nothing. He couldn't be here." The truth is Clint's in Vegas, she thinks, doing something incredibly stupid, probably, but very important, definitely. If she's hurt she doesn't have the clearance to know, it doesn't show, but Tony lets it slide and moves on, starts talking about the paper he and Bruce are thinking of working on, about how he wants Cap to move into the tower, but he can't seem to get him out of his scrappy little apartment. 

"Honestly, it's killing me inside. Everyone's supposed to like me, even my childhood anti-hero."

"Anti-hero?"

He waves his hand. "It's complicated," he says, and snags a stewardess. "Bring her a Sprite, will ya?"

 

 

 

Natalie is not so hard to become. She's standing in the bathroom, curling her hair and trying to figure out how much of a _bra_ she wants this not-bra to be when Tony toes open the door and hands her a glass of water. "Dinner's at seven."

"Thank you." She takes the water that is not water but actually vodka and takes a healthy drink. "Stark."

"Oops, sorry, wrong one." 

"It's fine." She finishes it off and adjusts her skirt before buttoning her blouse the rest of the way. 

 

 

 

The gala goes off without a hitch. Tony throws out some excuses about places to see, people to do and they take the elevator back up to their shared room. 

"Well." Natasha strips out of Natalie's things -- heels off, then stockings, skirt and blouse last -- and leans against the dresser. She doesn't know when she became so comfortable standing in front of him in the little bit of bra and underwear she's wearing, but he doesn't really seem to notice, instead dropping ice into a glass and filling it up with whiskey. "You're not dead."

"It would appear not. I _am_ still in the room with you, though. There may be hope for me yet."

"I couldn't kill you, Stark. Even if I wanted to."

"Ah." He downs his drink and smirks. "So you admit to liking me. I knew I'd get it out of you."

"I never said I didn't."

"It was heavily implied."

Natasha frowns. "How so?"

He doesn't have an answer to that, and when he goes to pour another drink, she crosses the room to him and covers the stopper with her hand. "No. No more. Not tonight."

"Thank you, but I don't need a Potts impersonator tonight. Sort of the last thing I need."

"Maybe not." She takes the decanter away and he doesn't fuss. "Where did she go?"

Tony stiffens. "Back to LA. We're on a break."

"Liar."

"No, you're right. I told her to go."

"Because you hate yourself for being happy?"

"Because I care about her and I'm done with making a mess of her life." 

Natasha doesn't have much to say. It's a fair judgment on his part. Civilians and this life don't mix. Last month Iron Man stood in the middle of a burning building as it came down around him. Pepper's a good woman, and Natasha has more respect for her than she does for the majority of her superiors. She thinks if you gave SHIELD to Potts, they might not be ready to run themselves into the ground.

She thinks the split was more mutual than Tony lets on, and she has the feeling he got dumped without realizing it.

She'll compare notes though later. 

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"That's not really what's happening here, short stuff, but hey. You wanna read it like that, go on ahead."

"No, that's exactly what's happening here."

"Could you at _least_ put some clothes on before you lecture me?"

"Why?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "Is it bothering you?"

"It's making it really hard to think with my upstairs brain, yes."

Natasha smirks. "Maybe you've been trying too _hard_ to think with your upstairs brain."

"Am I reading too much into this?"

"You're being a sorry, sad sack of shit and I don't like it." She huffs. "I _don't_ dislike you, in any way whatsoever. But right now, I'm not your biggest fan."

"Why, because you didn't get an invite to the pity party?"

"Because you're making the right decisions, but you're talking about them in all the wrong ways."

Tony frowns. "Show me, then."

"Show you what?"

He sets the glass down. It clinks with renewed purpose. "Show me the right way."

Her breath hitches. "No way with me is particularly right."

"Well, maybe _right_ isn't exactly the best word to use." He draws a finger along her forearm and she shivers. "Maybe we need a new strategy." Now, he grins. "Care to collaborate?"

"I think we're working with all the wrong equipment."

"Well." He loosens his tie with a finger and drains the last vestiges of his drink. "Maybe that's just me."

 

 

 

Normally, she doesn't suck cock. 

It's not about degradation or taste or anything like that. She just likes to keep her knees in good condition, and she doesn't especially _like_ having her hair pulled.

"Don't tug," is all she says, though, before giving him a gentle push and dropping down between his legs to take his cock into her mouth. 

To his credit, he follows orders pretty well. He makes the right noises, says the right things, and tells her part way through that he'd rather come in her cunt than in her mouth. 

"Do you have condoms?" she asks. They both know what kind of body she has -- it's never been talked about, and she dislikes having this conversation with anyone, whether they're fucking or not. But still. It gives it the illusion of normalcy. 

He doesn't comment. "Do you _even_ know who I am?" Tony jerks a thumb toward his carry-on and she reaches in, pulling out the neat little box and producing the foil wrapper. He backs himself up against the headboard and she likes that he already knows where he's supposed to be. 

She shimmies out of her underwear and unhooks her bra, aware of his gaze on her every time she moves. "Do you like what you see?"

"Very much so."

"I do aim to satisfy."

He smirks. "So satisfy me."

"If you insist, Mr. Stark."

"Agent Romanov, I _never_ insist." She straddles his waist, gripping his cock and rolling the condom down his length. "I only suggest."

"I'll remember that." He makes no move for her, not even when she curls her fingers around him and teases herself with the head of his cock. Not even when she slowly sinks onto him, cataloguing each noise he makes, the further down she goes. Not even when he's completely buried inside her and she stills over him, reaching up to wet her thumb and circle her left nipple, her right hand reaching out the thread her fingers with his. "Still invested?"

"Well, you give a mean presentation." The last bit fades into a moan as she moves, pushing herself up and dropping down again. Natasha watches his face, enjoys the way he doesn't look away from her. He finally reaches forward and strokes a hand over her hip, tracing them over the curve of her thigh. She can feel her muscles twitch under his touch, feels a fire in her belly start to spark as he draws a blunt nail over the edge of a scar. It's old, very old, she wants to say, but she doesn't know how to place herself in her own timeline anymore and instead, she just drops down again, harder this time, clenching around him and reveling in the soft noises he makes. 

She thinks about touching herself, giving him a show, spreading her legs for him and getting herself off above him, letting him lick her out, letting him taste and touch and lay below her, hard and wanting. She could, she'd done it. She could fuck his face and get herself off and leave him. 

But it wouldn't feel good. Thinking about it doesn't even feel good. What feels good is the heat and length of him, pressing up inside her, dragging over every inch of her, deep and rich and solid. Natasha gasps, feeling herself wanting to tumble over, wanting to give in. She _hasn't_ touched herself and here she is, taking him and so close to coming she can almost taste it. She slams herself down, holds him and gasps, letting herself go somewhere she hasn't been for a while.

" _Jesus_ , you're..." Tony pushes his hips up as she drops down and she chokes, spits his name and claws her way up his chest. "Don't touch yourself. Don't even think about it, I wanna see this, I _have_ to see this--"

"Fuck you--"

He sits up, spreading his hands over her back while she keeps going, keeps fucking herself on him until it wells up inside her and bubbles over, cascades and burns up everything in its way. She comes, digging her nails into his shoulder and clenching hard, biting his neck and wailing. He feels good, he feels so _good_ and she is loose and falling apart around him, trying to maintain some semblance of control over herself. 

And he keeps going, keeps moving, dropping his hand between her legs and circling a thumb over her clit while he fucks her, while he doesn't _stop_ until she can feel him come, knows he's coming, just from the way his breathes her name, stills and pushes in one last time, holding himself. His thumb puts just enough pressure against her and she drops her head back, groaning and too sensitive, her whole body snapping forward with the force of it.

It's been a while since she felt this way, but she knows not to let on about that.

She can only take so much gloating.

 

 

 

Tony sends the stewardesses out of the cabin and goes down on her in the plane. Natasha squeals, threading her fingers through his hair and getting a blissful, solid satisfaction of having his tongue fucking in and out of her, his fingers spreading her. She fucks him in the seat somewhere over the Midwest, lets him put his mouth on her breasts and suck a bruise somewhere on her left side. 

"Are you going to be in trouble?" he asks, choosing his words carefully while he strokes her bare shoulder. 

"For fucking you?" He grunts. "I wasn't aware it was anyone's business."

"Everything is Fury's business."

"He doesn't care about who anyone is fucking." She rolls over, enjoying the fact that his plane comes with a bed comfier than the one she sleeps on at home. "If he did, Clint would have been fired years ago. He systematically worked his way through the accounting department." She stops. "Though not on purpose, I don't think."

"Good things to know." He reaches for his cup of coffee. "So is this a one-time thing, or could I convince you to have a few more grown up sleep overs with me in the future?"

Natasha reaches out and steals the cup from his hands taking a healthy drink before handing it back. "You won't need to do much convincing. I know what's good."

"You enjoyed it then."

"I told you as much."

"You were telling me a lot of things, last night." He grins, all the melancholy gone from his face. 

"I meant them." Natasha sits up, pressing a kiss to his neck and trailing her lips over his shoulder. "Not to shatter your world view or anything, but I've been known to be truthful under certain circumstances."

He looks away, not unkindly. Natasha feels like she might have said too much, but then he kisses her, all hissing breath and hands in her hair. It's a good kiss, a solid, promising kiss that she hasn't had in a while. "We're landing," he says. "As much as I believe you about Fury's apathy toward your sex life, I doubt he wants to see you disembark in your skivvies."

"His loss," she murmurs, and rolls over to get dressed.


End file.
